Right of Life
by Roxburry Black
Summary: While a mysterious murderer is rampaging around London, Sherlock and Watson encounter a strange but cheerful teenager who might be the killer. At the same time Mycroft meets Agent Coulson who is trying to keep London from being caught in the crossfire of two feuding, well armed twins.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Sherlock or Trigun or Agents of Shield

#$#$#$#$#$#$#

Dr. John Watson knew that the sight of a dead girl on the couch would invariably lead to some sort of chaos involving his errant flatmate. At the time he really didn't know how much chaos there would be.

The dead girl in question was a teenager; blood smeared along her left leg leaving horrible stains on her peculiar shoes and pants while disappearing completely into the red trench coat. Her face was smooth, with a regal brow and straight nose and short, spikey blond hair began to fall from the straight up position that it previously held. A leather holster hung low at her hips reminding the poor doctor of one of the old western films he had seen.

"Sherlock, why is there a dead teenager on the couch?"

The consultant detective wandered into the room with a bored expression, "She's not dead, but her leg needs to be fixed up."

"What did you do!? Sherlock?" Holmes wandered out of the room.

"Bandage her leg please. And don't call Lestrade, he's mad at me for stealing a taxi."

Heaving the godmother of all sighs Watson moved into his room to grab his first aid kit when he came back brilliant sea green eyes stared at him over the edge of orange reflective sunglasses.

"Hello," he rubbed his arm along the side of his jacket for a moment, "I'm sorry for….whatever's Sherlock's done." One eye slid shut as she shifted her leg ever so slightly to allow him more access to the damaged limb. "Well, I'll get on with it then."

Later, Watson had completely forgotten the red clad teenager (she was so quiet and still) until Mrs. Hudson dropped a carton of eggs and screamed.

"SHERLOCK!" At her scream the doctor and the consulting detective scrambled into the living room to investigate.

"What do you want?" Holmes demanded irritated, "Do quit your screaming."

"Why is there a poor dead girl on the couch?" John turned his attention back to the girl; she had settled down more comfortable and peeked comically from the high collar of her coat.

"She's not dead," The teen blinking in affirmation, "She's injured."

"How?" Now slightly calmed Mrs. Hudson moved to the couch to stare with rather morbid curiosity at the large swath of bandages, "And why didn't you take her to the hospital?" "Not important, he turned his infamous glare up the teen, "I've got your gun."

She blinked again, "Are you going to talk at all?" John demanded as he finally caught sight of her right arm that hand been buried in the cushions. There was no right sleeve to the coat, instead covering that arm was a peculiar leather encasing with multiple buckles. Covering her hands were black leather gloves. It looked very strange.

"Do you want me too?" All adult eyes turned, "I wasn't talking earlier because no one was talking to me. And I figured it would be rude to interrupt the doctor's work. Hello!" With that leather encased arm she gave a wave that reflected the cheery smile, chipper voice and sea green eyes sparkling with mischievousness.

"Um, yes." Watson shrugged as the moment sank into an awkward pit, "How are you feeling?' _She's American._

"Oh me? She sat up with an even brighter smile, "I feel fine. Great, but fantastic works to, hmmmm. What about glorious. No? Too stern and formal? I think so. But what about just phenomenal or is that too much of a mouth full?"

_She is definitely American._ Was the simultaneous thought from all three of them as the girl tried to find the perfect word phrasing about how she was feeling.

"Are you hungry dear?" Cutting her off in a rather un-Mrs.-Hudson like manner the words caught the younger woman off guard.

"Yes," her arms flailed about to emphasize the point, "I'm starving in fact. But not actually starving because I ate 12 hours ago in the airport but that's silly for someone to starve that quickly. So I'm just very hungry."

"She still hasn't told me her name," Sherlock muttered as the American scrambled off the couch and followed Mrs. Hudson to the kitchen, highly favoring her injured leg, "She won't talk to me."

"You're meaning to tell me you couldn't guess her name from the coat?"

"Why," Sherlock turned his intense eyes from the brightly dressed teen to his friend, "Can you?"

"No Sherlock, I was making fun of you."

"Well ask for her name, we've got to get something to work off of."

"Miss," John stepped into the kitchen as both ladies began to engage in a heated discussion of Coffee versus Tea. "would you mind telling us your name?" As her piercing eyes turned on his Watson felt as if his insides had been flash frozen with nitrogen, then her eyes turned from flinty to cheerful a millisecond later.

"Sure, you can call me Vash, the most awesome person you'll ever meet!" Vash's eyes passed over Sherlock as if he wasn't even there.

"You don't even need to hear her to be able to tell she's an arrogant brat," Crossing his arms and turning away from the kitchen Sherlock spoke to Watson, "Just look at that coat and her arm with those boots and sunglasses. No one walks around like that unless they're 100 percent sure of themselves."

"She's got self-confidence, good"

"Entirely too much if you ask me."

"I didn't."

"And her voice, it's too cheerful to be normal.

"Which means it's not," the two sustained a glaring contest until John heard Mrs. Hudson ask the question that had been burning in the back of his mind.

"What happened to your leg?"

"Oh, some idiot ran be down with a taxi."

"Oh that's dreadful, did the police catch him?'

"No, I'm afraid not. He scampered before anyone could find him."

Aghast Watson turned to see Sherlock pick up his violin, "Sherlock!"

#$#$#$#

Mycroft Holmes wasn't one someone could sneak up on, nor scare, startle or frighten. But at his moment he was a little concerned about the man sitting across from his desk. A man who he swore had not been there when he had got to speak to the secretary for a moment.

"Mr. Holmes," In the semi permeable darkness of the office Mycroft could make out a well pressed suit and neat features, his accent unmistakably American, "May I have a moment?"

"It seems you already have taken the liberty of adding yourself into my schedule so," with a wave of his hand Mycroft moved toward his desk, "continue."

"Thank you," both men continued to stare for a several minutes while concluding and filing away information about the other. "My name is Agent Coulson from S.H.I.E.L.D. and I'm afraid that London is in grave danger."

#$#$#$#4

MWHAHAHAAHAHAHAH

The deadly combination of Mycroft Holmes and Agent Coulson! YES so leave a review.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own Sherlock, Agents of Shield or Trigun

#$#$#$#$#$#$

Vash was cheerful if overbearing company. Her tendency to jump from subject to subject was dizzying and her extensive knowledge about everything she spoke of impressed him into silence. Mrs. Hudson had taken her leave of the one sided conversation an hour ago with the excuse for bed. Sherlock was lounging on the couch watching the American through half lidded eyes as she spoke energetically at Watson. She would not acknowledge Sherlock when he spoke or threw a biting comment into the conversation to bait her.

Watson was thoroughly taken by her charming personality but his soldiers sense warned him against the black aura of malice oozing from every pore in her body.

#$#$#$#$

Mycroft sat down to read the many pages Agent Coulson had placed on his desk.

"The assassin we're talking about has a very signature method of murder," Coulson steppled his fingers, "the bullets are made of plastic and packed with gunpowder that's explodes upon impact. Her favorite place to shoot is the back of the head and at the moment she's loose in London."

"How does this place the entire city in danger?" Mycroft carefully examined his 'guest'.

"She has no discrimination who she shoots and will probably kill three to four people a day if no one stops her. She favor execution style so you'll find the victims faced contorted with fear."

"Very ugly business."

"Very ugly business indeed. If you mashall the police forces she'll know and probably end up killing the queen." The deadly serious expression on the American's face kept Mycroft from questioning his words.

"What should be do?"

"I would like to have permission for my team to search the city for her." Mycroft inwardly winced at how much damage an entire team of American spies might wreck on his city.

"Under one condition, you take two of my people with you"

"Who are they?"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

"I'll talk to my team," Coulson stood up and nodded, "Good bye for now."

"What is this assassins name?" Mycroft asked feeling for the first time in a while that a black hole of unknown knowledge had just opened underneath him.

"She has many names but the one she favors the most is Vash." With that Coulson disappeared around the corner.

#$#$##$#$#$

It was three in the morning when Watson became aware of pounding on the door. They had gone to bed around midnight Vash somehow stealing Sherlock's blankets and pillow to warm up the couch. He heard Sherlock answer the door and prepared himself for the inevitable.  
"JOHN!"

Vash was already awake when he got downstairs wrapped up in the blankets she looked beyond annoyed at having been woken up. Lestrade was inching slowly away from her ugly glare as he explained the entire situation.

"It looks like a mob execution but the bullet wounds got us stumped."

Sherlock was dressed faster than should have been legal. Shocking everyone Vash was on her feet a moment later, favoring her injured leg.

"I'm coming to," all trace of anger was gone as a painfully cheerful smile blinded the half awake policemen, "Let's go." Pointedly ignoring Sherlock's barbs she hassled Lestrade into giving he a free ride to the crime scene. The poor detective was given no opportunity to protest a girl and non policeman seeing the scene as she moved faster than him and bullied him along.

"American's make no sense." Watson stated, "One moment it looks like she wants to shoot me the next she's happier than a clam."

"That girl is dangerous," Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"How dangerous?" Watson got ready and followed his friend out.

The shrug and noncommittal grunt told Watson that Sherlock had no idea. Being wrong was never a comfortable place for Sherlock.

#$#$#$#$#

Coulson found his team scattered around the Bus when he returned from his meeting with the older Holmes. Skye was matching wits with Ward with a Star Wars chess set that Fitz had dug from some obscure corner of the plane. May sat meditating in the cockpit while Simmons ran checkups on her vitals. Fitz was clicking away at a rubic cube with a very concerned look on his face.

"I need you in the meeting room," he called over the intercom. It took a good two minutes of playing songs of varying decibels to finally summon Skye and Ward.

"I told you, that move is going to give me a great place to get your queen."

"You're full of crap Ward, you're just saying that because you've never seen me play before."

"When we get back to that game you're going to lose."

"You won't be able to get back to the game," Coulson turned on the TV. A teenager appeared, short spikey blond hair, sea green eyes and a rather confused expression on her face, "I've managed to get access to London and Scotland Yard."

"So have a found her yet?" Ward asked.

"Vash is on the loose and I'm afraid she knows we're here."

Fitz an Simmons tittered in fear and moved closer together. "Mycroft Holmes is."

"Did you say _Mycroft Holmes?"_ Fitz demanded.

"Yes," Coulson blinked and nodded for him to continue.

"Have you ever heard of him," Simmons asked, "This man is practically the British Government in one man."

"Alright, calm down. The down side is he won't let us search for Vash unless we've got two of his men working with us."

"Who's that," Ward asked abandoning his argument with Skye for the moment.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

"OH MY GOD!" Skye startled all of them, "Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes." Coulson frowned for a moment longer, "Will you please stop yelling and explain."

"Sherlock Holmes is huge on the net, Watson follows him around and they blog about all the cases he solves. He's like a genius."

"Oh."

"Are they reliable sir," May asked over the ceaseless chattering of Skye and Simmons.

"I'm going to assume so but we'll be going over to meet them tomorrow. Until then get our gear ready."

"Yes sir."

#$#$#$#$#$

The crime scene was a bloody, disgusting mess. Slowly walking around the splatters of blood Sherlock noticed the minuts details. Watson looked a tad green from the whole thing and stood next to a hassled looking Lestrade.

"Execution style you say?"

"Yeah, like something the mob would do."

Sherlock went silent and Watson turned to the Inspector, "Where is Vash?"

"She's beating up Anderson. It's the only way I could keep her away from the crime scene."

"This I must see," With a swish of his coat Sherlock stepped around the two men and into the room where Anderson was sitting looking ready to cry.

Perched in another chair looking evil and cheerful at the same time sat Vash, each sentence was a cruel barb at the forensics man sake an each one more nasty and cruel than the last.

"Vash!" Watson looked horrified, "Be nice! That was completely uncalled for."

"I think it was hilarious." Sherlock was ignored at Vash's incredulous and insulted expression.

"Excuse me?"

"That was rude, you should not have said so things." Watson continued to lecture while Vash dissolved into helpless, booming laughter as Anderson burst into tears at a few more barbs from Sherlock.

"Oh lord, they're all crazy."

It wasn't until Vash finally got a chance to look at the crime scene did the merry making come to a screeching halt.

Her face turned a dangerous shade of murderous and her sea-green eyes flashed fury.

"That bitch."

#$#$#$

The plot thickens, leave a review


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own Sherlock, Agents of Shield or Trigun

#$#$#$$#$####$#$#$#$

The call came in at three in the morning, effectively waking up the entire plane with the blaring klaxon alarm. Blinking much needed sleep out of their eyes everyone assembled in the meeting room. Skye dragged along her blanket which she kept wrapped around her shoulders, glaring at an annoying alert Ward she dropped into the chair Fitz had dubbed "Coulson's Throne."

"Where is he?" mumbled Simmons who curled up on the couch head resting on the end like a cat, "He's never late."

"Maybe he's still asleep," Skye grumbled, "The brilliant Agent Coulson.."

"Is awake," Coulson breezed through the door wearing his customary suit and looking the most awake out of all of them, "And we've got a hit. Vash's first victim was found his morning."

Ward woke up properly as every single switch in his soldiers body flipped on, "Who was it sir?"

"A cab driver, she's got him in an abandoned warehouse."

"Did anyone catch sight of her," May, also looking more alert asked.

"This is Vash we're talking about," Phil tapped a few digital keys and an image showed up, "Here is the victim. Brady Solnes, cab driver, single and living in a small apartment with two roommates. Skye," a single eye peeled open, "I need you to do as much research on him as possible ."

Skye replied with a displeased grunt but hauling herself off the chair she shuffled over to the screen and began to click away at dizzying speeds.

"Ward, please go get the cars prepped. Fitz, Simmons, got get dressed and ready to leave, dress warmly. A snowstorm is expected. May," here he leaned in close and whispered. She nodded and took off for the cock pit.

#$#$#$

"Bitch," Sally had reappeared, "who's a bitch?"

"An argument can be made for you," John saw Sherlock give a twitch which translated into a smile, "but no." Vash limped to the door with a grim expression marring her normally cheerful face. "The bitch I've got in mind is someone much worse than you."

"What's going on Vash," following the teen the doctor watched as she picked her way around the debris from the warehouse going to many year abandoned. "Vash! VASH!"

With a spectacular swirl of her coat she disappeared around the corner leaving a trail of confused policemen, "Go back to the flat with Sherlock Dr. Watson, I'll meet up with you there. Tell the idiot that Big Brother is coming." Her loud voice echoed around the spacious hallways until it faded into the distance.

"Why am I surrounded by people who are completely off their rocker?" Giving up John shook his head and went back to Sherlock's side.

"Did she say anything?" The consultant detective asked while sniffing at the gunpowder.

"She just said that, 'Big Brother is coming'."

"Big Brother, like, the Big Brother from 1984?" Lestrade joined the conversation now, "What's that mean."

"I have no idea but she said she'll meet us back at the flat."

"Of course," absently Sherlock acknowledged his words, "On your way back could you pick up some milk. We seem to be out again."

"Vash made hot chocolate last night."

"Of course," distain for his taxi cab victim fair dripped from his words, "You may go."

Bristling the doctor left the ware house, not noticing the arrival of a black sedan with an eagle stamped on the sides. Nor did he notice the strange assortment of people who stumbled out as if from a clown car.

#$#$#$#$#$#$#

"Is that all you need Sherlock?" Lestrade asked while staring at the glowing number on his phone which informed him it was now four in the morning.

"Yes." Faster than the detective would have thought possible for the man Sherlock also disappeared.

"Finally," rubbing his head he was about to leave when he turned to see a sight which made his blood boil with sudden rage at being kept from his beloved bed any longer. "Who are you?'

"Detective," A well dressed man flashed a badge he recognized but couldn't place, "We need to take a look at the crime scene."

"Who are you," Lestrade caught the flat tones of an American accent, "and why should I let you on my crime scene?" Wordlessly the man produced a simple paper that held only a few lines of printed text and a famously familiar signature. Heart clenching he crushed the message in his fist.

"Take all the time you need."

#$#$#$#$#$#$#$

The sun had already risen above the London Eye when Vash reappeared on the staircase looking grim and older then her teenage years. John peeked over the edge of his empty tea mug to watch as she settled onto the couch.

"All right there Vash?"

"Just peachy Dr. Watson," sighing she rolled onto her side while avoiding injuring her leg further," just peachy."

"Where did you get off too?"

"I had to check on something," voice slightly muffled John strained to hear what she was saying, "But the Bus is here and I might have to leave soon." Vash sighed with the air of one going to the executioners block. A thrill of fear ran down John spine and his hand tingled with a veiled promise of further excitement.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"JOHN!" With an imperious tone that immediately set the Doctor's teeth on edge and made him want to punch the consultant detective Sherlock appeared on the stair case. "There are idiots bungling up the crime scene!"

With a swirl of his coat Sherlock swept into the room looking insulted to his very core.

"That's fantastic Sherlock," John put the tea cup down with a pointed glare in the direction of the now seemingly sleeping teenager, "But shut up."

For a brief moment of complete silent bliss before Sherlock frowned, "Where has she been?"

# # # # #

"All we want is confirmation Fitz," Coulson said as the flying robots took off to inspect the crime scene, "Look for the tell-tale traces like the plastic."

"Got it," staring intently down at the screen the scientist maneuvered his bots about.

"She could have picked a better time to do this," grumbled Skye, ignoring all of the disgusted and annoyed face, "This is way too early to be awake."

"Found it sir," Coulson stepped over to Fitz's side and examined the screen.

"May, send a call back to headquarters. Tell them we've got confirmation on the killer."

"Excuse," Lestrade's thin patience, already tested by Sherlock at 3 in the morning, had snapped. "Perhaps if you told me who you were looking for maybe we'd be able to find her faster. " The Briton didn't like the calculating gaze the American was giving him.

"Fitz," his voice broke the spell, "please pull up an image of the killer."

"Wait? You already know wh….." his voice trailed off with a sort of horrified awe at the image staring up at him. The blond girl who had been here with Sherlock and Dr. Watson was gazing from the screen with a slightly confused expression. In a rush his entire encounter with her came pouring into his head.

"This girl is extremely dangerous. She has killed several people in the past of simply annoying her and if you are to send your police forces after her I would not advise it." The American was speaking but the detective wasn't sure he was listening.

"You're…you're big brother aren't you?"

Recognition flashed across his face, surprise and annoyance came only a moment later, "Where did you hear that?"

"That girl," horror seeped into his bones, "She was with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

At those words the team sprang into action. With a flurry of movement they were off leaving behind nothing but the memory that they had even been there.

"Someone call Sherlock," the detective ordered, "I think he's in danger."

"Damn," the perfectly modulated tones of Mycroft Homes echoed from a dark corner of the warehouse, "why does that always happen?"

#$#$#$#$

Leave a review.


End file.
